


When the whole world is red

by HerSweetMockingMouth



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: America sucks right now, Angst, Brief Smut, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Use of Safe Word, deep and loving eye contact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:54:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28625268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerSweetMockingMouth/pseuds/HerSweetMockingMouth
Summary: Watching the news from Manchester, Christen can't stand it. Can't stand that this is the reality of their country.It affected her.It affected her more than she even knew.*A story of Tobin meeting Christen in her grief**A story of love when the whole world seems wrong*
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Comments: 30
Kudos: 153





	When the whole world is red

**Author's Note:**

> Watching the news of a Trumpian mob storming the Capitol building to so little resistance has overwhelmed me in a way I don't even know how to describe. 
> 
> Maybe, if you feel the same, this story can be a way for you to cry out in defiance at the hurt for a moment, and find a little peace in the sacred moments between two people who love each other deeply instead.

**January 6th, 2021**

This was… horrific. This couldn’t be real.

But the TV was on the news channel, BBC written there in the corner with video and pictures and —

That meant this wasn’t some off brand movie about a crumbling America with the always faithful (and always white) agent/cop/soldier/whatever who would miraculously save the day in the last 20 minutes, finally calling his pretty (but bland) wife in her place of work, or maybe with their child, safe and sound, still trembling from how close it came to the end.

She’d always hated those movies anyway.

But this was the news. This was … America.

This was what she knew America to be already but on such ugly, laughable, shocking display.

If this had been a BLM protest there would be piles of bodies in front of Capitol doors before a single window had been broken.

If this had been about Dreamers, or accessible healthcare, or trans rights, the arrests would have numbered in the hundreds - pictures of old hippies and still-hopeful college students and tireless activists and any black or brown body that dared attend being dragged off by the National Guard in full riot gear, lifted bodily even as red blood dripped down their foreheads from rubber bullets before a single punch had been thrown.

But these _people_. These white men and women; armed; howling; looting; taunting with huge red flags of a dead nation built by the backs of slaves, with shirts crying for the blood of more Jews, and all of this in the literal chambers of America’s democratic heart…

They were taking _selfies_.

These people were terrorists.

And the cops were letting them take selfies.

You know what? Fuck this. Fuck Trump. Fuck his rabid horde of dogs. Fuck the news calling them "protesters". Fuck this shameless display of white privilege. Fuck the —

Hands snuck over the couch to wrap around her shoulders, a nose nestling into the bend of her neck.

"Hey, babe. I missed you."

It took her a moment to engage. To recalibrate.

"You were gone for three hours, Tobin."

"Missed you anyway."

A kiss snuck into the hollow above her collarbone — then one behind her ear.

"Did you miss me?"

Christen let her head tip back a little. Let herself nuzzle into the honey wisps sneaking out of Tobin’s ponytail.

The president’s voice broke into the air — something about "you’re very special. I know how you feel."

She could legitimately vomit.

A voice so close she heard it more through vibrations than sound: "Ug, turn it off. His voice gives me anxiety." She knew the exact face Tobin would be making — nose wrinkled, lips pouting.

Fingers massaged lightly into the cords of tension at the top of Christen’s back. She mewled.

"It’s in DC. His protest got violent. They broke into the Capitol Building… delayed the meeting to approve Biden."

"Are you kidding me?!"

"No, look."

The background was still flashing images. Cowering senators. People scaling walls. A black cop all alone, retreating up the steps, a mob of angry men pushing up after him with wicked grins.

"God, the hypocrisy."

"I know."

They watched a series of photos more.

"I don’t want to know. I’d rather read it tomorrow.” A sigh. “Jesus, I hate this, Chris."

Christen turned the TV off, her image appearing suddenly in the glossy screen, lit red with the setting sun through the sliding deck doors; Tobin a wraith shimmering off behind, haloed in it.

Or not haloed — wreathed maybe. Like fire. The silence was massive and she felt her vision tunneling into the sparking reflection… deeper and deeper and—

* * *

  
"That was great, babe."

"It was just stir-fry, Tobin."

"Yeah, but it was really good."

Christen pushed a snow pea across her plate, watching teriyaki part like the Red Sea.

"Thanks."

* * *

"… And Megan is talking to Diane about the next print, something about the contrast levels. But we can check it when we get there. It’s always different on paper and I want to see it first hand. Which one did you like, by the way? The red or the sorta gold one?"

"…Chris?"

Christen jumped when she saw Tobin’s eyes on her, toothbrush foamy and hanging loose in her mouth. "Hm?"

"The new Re print set. Only the red and gold are in the running now. I think I like the red better, but the gold feels a little more accessible broadly for our audience. Which one do you like better?"

She thinks of the bright red spray paint on the statue in downtown Portland last summer, the night after a riot. The dripping cry; "no justice, no peace."

She thinks of the blood and teeth on the sidewalk beside it.

She sticks her own toothbrush back in her mouth.

"You’re the artist. You can choose."

* * *

  
Oh god, it was so _good._

Tobin’s hand ceaseless between her legs, three fingers wet and sticky as she pushed, pushed, pushed.

"So hot, babe. You’re so hot. So perfect for me."

A twist of her wrist on the entering; a curl of her fingers on the exit.

Tobin’s moan, breath hot across her clit. How could it be so _hot?_ Christen was already on fire, lips spread and open, and red, she knew they must be, Tobin’s knuckles pounding them out and wide again, again, again with each thrust.

She felt a cry tear through her body.

Her hands pulled uselessly at the scarves they’d bought just for this. For moments just like this. Tobin commanding, Christen begging. They fit so well in it. Craved it.

A tongue smoothed at her, the flat dragging across her, at the apex of her, over and again. Then another hot breath.

"How do you always taste so good?"

Tobin descending again. Then just mashing her mouth against her, too caught up in regaining air. She always got too into it; lost her breath.

Christen loved it.

And her damned mouth. Her chapped lips setting off little electric pulses up her spine as ragged skin caught her clit. Again on the next drag. Christen could barely breathe now too, with it. With Tobin.

She looked down at her lover. Her rapturous face. The abandon with which she rubbed it into the wet of her, not caring that it was all over her cheeks, her chin.

One lip looked cracked to hell. Probably caught in her teeth when she’d been of single-minded purpose earlier, carefully twisting Christen’s nipples until she thought she might scream — just like Christen liked. It was an obvious gap, skin split until she could see the hint of red in between. The blood waiting to ooze out again when not held back by the layer of slick.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

"Red."

Tobin’s hand was still pounding. Twisting. Then curling.

Christen’s arms wrenched, caught. Something was building behind her temples. A pressure behind her eyes. 

"Tobin, RED. RED!"

The woman was gone in an instant, stumbling up and into a sit so quickly she’d fallen back onto the palms of her hands, one inch away from careening to the floor.

"Shit. What is it? What’s wrong? Are you ok?"

Brown eyes looked panicked and her mouth gaped, still panting, still slick, still —

"Take them off." Christen could feel herself panicking. Writhing. "Take them off! Please, Tobin. Get them—"

She thinks she kept talking. Begging, even as the brunette sprung to her feet, hands grasping for a silky knot; then tripping around to the other side of the bed; undoing the other.

Her hands were at her throat now. Christen’s hands. Searching for air somewhere beneath the skin. Begging for it to manifest in her lungs.

Tobin was on the bed again, fully naked, kneeling beside her with fingers just about to touch but hovering an inch off her skin.

"What is it, baby? Let me help. Honey—"

Christen wheezed. Tried to broaden her vision again from where it had shrunk, everything shadowed beyond a dollar coin size spot in the middle, like looking through one of those playground binoculars.

"Baby—"

"It’s fine."

Heaved.

"It’s fine."

Her lungs were filling more now. Inflating slowly, like soccer balls. "I just — I needed to stop. It’s fine."

Tobin clearly did not feel like this was fine.

"But are you ok? I’m so sorry I didn’t realize at first. I should have noticed. I should have figured it out before you even said anything."

Christen pulled her heavy fist off her chest — unfurled it — patted it clumsily on the midfielder’s knee where she knelt anxious and hovering off Christen’s left side.

" _I_ didn’t even know it was happening. It’s ok. We’re ok."

Tobin just twisted her mouth, tucking it in between those unfairly white teeth.

Her lips. She was really going to ruin her lips. Permanent divots, Christen swears.

"Can you … can you get me some water?"

Tobin was off in an instant, sound echoing in from the kitchen — a clatter and then the rush of the sink — as Christen tried to sit up. Tried to figure out what the _hell_ had just happened.

There was a cup in front of her face.

She took it and drank in long pulls till the whole thing was empty.

Handed it back.

"Thanks."

Tobin craned over to set it beside the bed. Then pulled back into her kneel, fingers now approaching enough to sit butterfly-like on her elbow.

"What… what happened?"

"Fuck if I know. It just… it was just too much all of a sudden."

"But if I did something wrong, or —"

Christen grabbed the tentative fingers, pulled them till she could grasp them in her lap. "This is why we have safe words in the first place."

"But you’ve never used it before. We’ve never had to…"

The lip was back between the teeth and Christen felt her heart flop in love for this girl. This woman. With her free hand, she reached out and smoothed two fingers across that pursed mouth. Saved her lip from its violent captor.

"You didn’t do anything wrong. I was good until I wasn’t. You stopped when I needed you to."

Tobin’s liberated lips caught the fingers still resting on her jawline. Pressed to them soft and apologetic. Loving.

Christen stroked the line of that strong chin one more time… then slumped into a collapse on the bed.

"I feel like I ran a marathon." Winked. "Did you really have to edge me past _three_ orgasms? I thought my legs were going to fall off I was trembling so much. My back still aches."

Tobin’s cheeks flared in that perfect rose Christen had decided was her favorite color — other than maybe the dusky pink of her nipples. "I was planning on aiming for five."

They shared smiles, space a velvet warm between them. But then Tobin’s face began to fall again. Reality crashing back.

"Really though, Christen. What happened? That… that really scared me to be honest."

Christen threw her arms over her eyes as she groaned, hiding in the blessed dark.

"Baby…" a thumb nudging in short strokes over her naked hip, "talk to me."

She took one more fortifying breath…

Then flung her arms down to the rucked up sheets.

"Just… _Jesus,_ Tobin, the news."

The body inched closer, thumb now joined by its four companions to spread in a comforting clasp over the wing of her pelvis. Stayed silent.

Space. Tobin always knew how to give space to get her to talk, even when she didn’t want to. But only ever when she needed to.

She needed to.

She _needed_ this.

"It’s just… there’s so much going on in the world. Just in the last _year._ I — the protests, the brutality, the — the wanton _death_. George Floyd. Breonna Taylor.It … it hurts my soul, Tobin. Portland this summer was," she hummed, words failing even as the images flashed heavy through her brain, "it was so dark. So evil. People asking for the right to _live._ Just to have babies and not be afraid of them being killed in the streets. To have brothers and not wonder if they’ll be at the next Christmas. To not have to wonder if the very people who are supposed to _protect_ you are going to leave you suffocating on the street."

The hand grasped in a gentle pulse. Released.

"I just feel like I have all these identities. All these roles I play. And I’m in magazines, and TV ads, and parades, and little girls wear shirts with my name on the back. And we’re business women now and we employ people and they trust us and look up to as and — And in so many ways you could look at me and think that I have nothing but open doors in front of me. But, Tobin… at the end of the day,"

The even inhales and exhales next to her built a little pocket that she wanted to crawl into like a rabbit in a warren. To hide in that breath and whisper, _finally_ , what this felt like and know that it would stay here, safe, nestled in them.

"I will always be black. And that is supposed to be _good._ It’s meant to be such a beautiful thing; so special. Then seeing so much hate in the world — in our own country _._ So much violence towards people like me… my dad, my sisters. They set up a gallows, Tobin. Right there in front of it all. A _gallows.”_

She could feel it there, hiding somewhere underneath her skin even as Tobin’s hand drew patterns of comfort atop of it. The bold violence of it. And somehow, deeper even than skin, something that felt older than herself — an itching terror that threatened to consume her. 

“It… it’s too much for me to _handle_ sometimes."

Tobin kept breathing, hand on her stomach now, flexing in and out in tiny little fingertip kisses every time Christen’s abdomen trembled.

"And today, these terrorists — because they ARE terrorists — get to charge the Capitol Building and they walk out without even an arrest. I can’t — I just —"

She curled into her side, fetal, arm winding until it could grasp the top of her head — give her a bit more space to hide in. It made her think of when she was a kid and she thought if she was just under the covers then the monsters couldn’t get her anymore. That there were shelters that meant something.

But there was no shelter here.

Even with Tobin.

The reality was that Christen and everyone like her had nothing — _nothing —_ that would shelter them from the truth of this.

That no matter what kind of person she was, what she did, how she did it… there would always be people who would look at her and see nothing but something you would wipe off your shoe. Wouldn’t even see her as human.

And right now, it felt like pretty much the whole damn population.

Just… _fuck._

Her bicep pressed until little fireworks exploded behind her eyelids. Pops and auras and lightning and _God,_ was the whole world on fire? Because part of her just wanted to give in and let herself burn up. Just be consumed by the hate because at least then she’d _escape_ it.

No more shattering, dripping, violent red. 

Just… nothing.

Just…

Black.

"Baby,"

A hand whispered around the curve of Christen’s chin.

A thumb rippled over the oars of her ribs.

A finger snuck into that shadowed place below her arm, across her bottom lip, full of intention.

"Chris, can I… can I do something?"

_Double Fuck._

"I _really_ don’t want to have sex right now, Tobin."

A fractured inhale.

"No! Shit, _of course not._ Christen, I wouldn’t — I just…" the hand returned to pull lightly at her elbow, a silent ask for her come back — to be with her again. "Can you roll onto your back. Please?"

"Not helping your case…"

But she did so.

Slow, but inexorably, she did so.

"I know you’re upset. God, you have every right to be." A leg swung over her pelvis, Tobin settling to sit over where her hips melded into her abdomen.

Christen stared up at her; at her bared torso. Her ribcage had always been so small. All muscle, but underneath… so _small._ It made her want to kiss every single rib. Lay a blessing over each slender arc that it would always be strong and solid.

Always keep that heart shielded from harm.

"This might feel a little weird but… can you just go with it? I want — I want you to see me. To see how _I_ see you."

Those brown eyes were fixed on green.

"What do you mean?"

The brunette took a breath. Rubbed her hands a little awkwardly against her own thighs.

"You are amazing, Christen. For every aspect of who you are."

She’d grabbed Christen’s now and the forward could feel the lingering sweat. The trembling tension. But the fingers were sure. And as she kept speaking, she began to stroke tender little lines against the long of Christen’s fingers. Along the arcing lines of her palm. 

"For your gentleness. For your tenacity. For how smart you are. For the way you reimagine what the world can be. For your femininity." A kiss against the tips of her first two fingers. "For your blackness. Every part of it is praiseworthy. Every part of it makes my heart swell so big that sometimes I wonder how it can stay in my chest. So,"

Tobin adjusted a little, making sure she didn’t sit too heavy in one place. But also so that her hands could sneak down and press just lightly into Christen’s stomach. Not to touch, really. Just grounding.

"So, I’m going to look at you. At _you._ I’m going to look at this woman that amazes me in every possible way. I’m," a brief survey of her body, like she was looking for any tension in the black woman’s frame. Any fear. Finding none, she resurfaced into green. "I’m not going to say anything. I’m not going to touch you. I’m just gonna look. And maybe," a gulp, "as I do it, you can see it in my eyes. Just how special you are. How worthy of love. Can we do that?"

"Tobin…"

"Just…" she ran a hand through her hair, and Christen could see it — the self-consciousness first, some unknown vulnerability she was feeling in this, but underneath and most of all, the sincerity —"be, Christen. Let yourself just be. And let me look at you."

A shaky breath filled her lungs. Her lips found themselves between the grasp of two teeth and Christen almost wanted to laugh — how much it made her think of the woman in front of her. But the air around them kept her silent. Curious.

This was… well, they’d never done something like this before. What even was this? To let someone just… look at her. I mean, they’d _looked_ before. Mutually in bed; in hazy morning smiles; in dripping hot appraisals of some new dress or lingerie.

But this…

But she loved Tobin. Trusted Tobin. And honestly, with the utter wretchedness of this day, she wasn’t sure she had the energy to do more than lay there anyway.

"Ok."

…So Tobin did.

Look at her.

It was difficult at first. Christen wanted to squirm away. There were so many _emotions,_ fritzing like a loose wire through the dermis of her.

Discomfort, heavily, to start. That feeling of being observed. Even though Tobin had seen her naked a thousand times, there was something vulnerable about it. About being there; unable to move away.

Next was shame. That horrible yet innate part of every woman that wonders if her body really measures up. If anyone looking at her could actually find her worthwhile. Find her _enough._ Why did Tobin even _want_ to be with her? God, she’d hurt her so many times. In pettiness. In pushing her away when she was just trying to help. In sulking after games, certain that everyone thought it was her fault, and Tobin left on the outside. Tobin was so _good_. Such a thoughtful human. So patient. Forgiving. Why on earth had she chosen Christen?

But then there was confidence. Tobin _had_ chosen her. Of all the women who wanted her, fuck, even just the women on the team who would have taken her home at the first opportunity… Tobin had chosen _her._ Had thought _her_ to be the worthwhile one. Had wondered why Christen had chosen _her._ And you know what else? Christen’s body _was_ beautiful. It was strong. It was a honed weapon that did exactly what she told it to. Tobin had praised it so many times. Pressed her mouth to it in rapturous worship. Proclaimed its perfection.

So that led to lust, obviously. Christen’s hips bucking up into Tobin’s, knowing there was surely a lingering wet beneath that mess of trimmed curls. But Tobin just moved with it, smoothing her hand across Christen’s stomach. Not taking things further. Just… receiving. Like she was affirming this part of Christen too. Affirming her wanting. It settled Christen. Contained the fire. It was tame anyway compared to the strange preternatural glow of Tobin’s gaze right now. Of this _looking._

Then curiosity. This was… this was long, honestly. What could Tobin possibly see? Still have left to see? But she was; eyes roving, not taking, just witnessing. There was no hint of distraction, and Christen was looking for it too. But brown eyes moved constantly, unrushed and purposeful. Reading almost. Seeing. So much seeing.

And when all these emotions had come and gone, settling back into their boxes or nestling up against one another to see what else would happen in this odd show, there was a sudden and overwhelming… acceptance. A quiet to it.

Christen felt her breathing even out. Long slow breaths as her chest rose, then fell.

Tobin’s eyes like a feather, leaving just the tiniest touch of awareness.

Tobin saw her.

Tobin wanted to see her.

And suddenly, unbidden, what she’d never expected in this moment.

What she’d hoped to ward off, honestly.

But it was an onslaught. A deluge. And Tobin’s presence… her watchful, wanting, loving presence had snuck in and opened whatever hastily built barricade Christen had been constructing in the last several months.

Grief.

Grief for the girls who would never have someone love them this way.

For the girls who were told only their flaws.

For the girls whose only observer was a nation with greedy and prejudiced eyes.

Christen’s eyes welled and her chest shuddered with it.

Dammit, this wasn’t what she _wanted._ She couldn’t handle this. What was she supposed to do with this _ocean_ of —

"Tobin—"

But Tobin just kept looking.

And though she’d passed there multiple times, finally her eyes rested on green.

Finally, they stayed there.

Fully accepting. Unwilling to hide how she felt.

And how could Christen respond in anything but the same?

It was — it was too much — it was so — she was so —

But she wouldn’t break. She wouldn’t look away. Only at the half-second blink of passing tears but she wouldn’t leave Tobin like this. Leave Tobin here.

Because Tobin _was_ here.

Tobin was with her.

And she _saw._

God, she didn’t think it was possible, but somehow, _somehow,_ Tobin saw it all.

So she looked.

They looked.

Christen wept as Tobin looked at her.

Saw her.

And loved her.

Loved her so damn much.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you waiting on a Coloring Outside the Lines update (bless you) I want you to know I am working on the next chapter! Hopefully up soonish. But this was just itching inside me and I had to get it out.
> 
> Also, if you care to share, I wouldn't mind a comment on how you've found hope in the midst of all this.


End file.
